"I had forgotten my weapon. Illogically I had had no desire to kill that tiny figure--only to catch it. But Martt had had no such feelings. He was stamping around the glade--trying to stamp upon the other figures--and mumbling angrily to himself. I called to ask if he had caught them. He didn't know. He had seen them momentarily--seen them raise their hands to their mouths. But they had dwindled so fast, they were lost in a moment. "The girl was unconscious, lying there in a huddled little heap. Gently I raised her, held her in the palm of my hand. She was white as a little waxen figure--white and beautiful; and so small I scarce dared to touch her with my huge rough fingers. "Martt brought water from the lake. I rested my hand on the ground, with her still lying in it. And then presently she opened her eyes." Brett paused, and as he gazed at each of us in turn I thought I had never seen his face so earnest. And there was upon it, too, a look almost of exaltation--a look which transfigured it. He added gently: "You three--my father, my sister, my friend, I have no need to hide from you my emotions. I think then--incongruously perhaps, for that little figure of girlhood lying there so soft and warm in the palm of my hand--I think then my love for her was born." Hide his emotions! He could not had he wished. This love in his heart was written plain on his face, to soften it, to uplift it to something--or so it seemed to me--something just a little more than human. A touch, perchance, of divinity. And I think now that love does that--if only for some fleeting moment--to each one of us. He went on very softly: "She opened her eyes. I was afraid she would be frightened. I tried to look very gentle, compassionate. I held my hand very still. I think that for an instant Martt and I stopped breathing. . . She opened her eyes--met mine. I saw in hers a flash of terror. But something, strangely, must have conquered it--against all reason as she stared at me. Stared while the terror faded, and her little lips parted and smiled a welcome and a thanks. . ." _CHAPTER 9_ "DWINDLING GIANTS FROM LARGENESS UNFATHOMABLE" There was not one of us who would have interrupted Brett when he paused to light an arrant-cylinder and to choose what next he would tell us. He was speaking softly, reminiscently, and with a curious gentleness. "I carried her to the vehicle, showed it to her. Obviously she could understand nothing of my words; but she was very quick to read my gestures; smiling readily now, with her fear quite gone. And sitting up in the palm of my hand, with her arm flung about my thumb to steady her, she bade me raise her to my ear. Her words--the softest, the tiniest of human voices--what she said was wholly unintelligible, save that I understood her name was Leela.